The First Step
by Inell13
Summary: Hermione takes the first step in moving on with a little help from Luna


Hermione stared at the brightly colored drink with a look akin to horror on her face. It was frivolous, theatrical, and more than a little silly. Looking up at her companion, she said, "I'm not drinking that."

"Why not? It's quite pretty. Don't you love the way the red juice brings out the yellows of the lemon peel?"

"It's not supposed to be I pretty /I . It's supposed to be solid and simple, something I don't feel like a complete idiot for drinking," she said matter-of-factly.

"You have so many rules, Hermione," Luna sighed, blonde hair falling around her face as she shook her head slowly. "Relaxation is not a bad thing, you know? They worry about you."

"What?" Hermione hated trying to having a conversation with Luna. It was like watching a tennis match inside the girl's mind, and Hermione had I never /I been fond of tennis. One minute, she'd be talking about some ridiculous thing that only made sense to her, which drove Hermione nuts because she loathed not understanding something, even nonsensical ramblings from a daft Ravenclaw. The next minute, she'd be serious and caring, showing the maturity that a twenty-two year old should possess. At nearly two years older than the blonde currently dipping her finger into a drink a darker red than her own, Hermione felt her patience wearing thin after only ten minutes.

"Ron and Harry. They worry about you," Luna said brightly. "I overheard them, you see, and decided that I should finally do something about it. So here we are! True, it's not as fun as looking for Hoffiskins, but I thought you prefer something festive."

"Hoffiskins?" Hermione repeated slowly, trying to conceal the guilt she felt at making her best friends worry. True, she'd been working extremely hard since the War ended shortly after their last year at Hogwarts, but she relaxed. They just had different ideas of relaxing. She happened to find reorganizing her library or reading historical texts quite calming, but they seemed to think she was tense and agitated just because she'd not shagged anyone since Pansy had died. They didn't understand. No one understood.

"She wouldn't want you to do this, you know?"

Again, Hermione found herself staring at Luna and asking, "What?"

"Pansy. She loved you. Every time she saw you, she was bright reds and oranges and yellows. I saw the colors before anyone, watching at meals as she'd look at you or you'd look at her, and the colors were so beautiful. She wouldn't want you living in blues and grays and blacks. The color has gone from you, Hermione. It's time you got it back."

"You're crazy," she finally declared, not wanting to talk about Pansy to anyone, especially not Luna. They weren't even friends! She could barely tolerate the nonsense that usually spilled from Luna's lips, only doing so because she was Ginny's best friend and sometimes did prove her status as a Ravenclaw with intelligent conversation. Okay, so maybe they were friendly, in a way, but not close by any means.

"Don't you remember being happy once, Hermione? She's been gone for nearly five years. I'm sorry you couldn't save her, but you know that she knew the end was coming. The grays had overtaken you both those last few weeks; when she'd arrive at the safe house covered in bruises, so pale and barely moving, it was black and gray and so sad. You couldn't have done anything more for her, Hermione. She made her choice, she sacrificed herself so that you, Harry, Ron, and everyone else could be happy and live without fear."

"Stop it," Hermione hissed, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. For five years, since they'd found Pansy's cold body on the field by the Burrow, a message left two days before Harry defeated Voldemort, she'd kept it inside. She didn't share her pain, share her loss, share her tears. She was brave and solid, unaffected, the rock for those around her. And, afterward, she'd thrown herself into work, spending as much time as possible staying busy so she wouldn't be forced to endure the lonely hours in her bed where she could sometimes felt soft lips against her skin, warm fingers between her legs, and the sweaty body of her lover pressed against her calling her 'my love' and 'beautiful'.

"No," Luna said warmly, her eyes so clear and knowing. She took Hermione's hand, her small fingers wrapping around the sides, squeezing gently. "You know, Pansy went hunting for Pooflenumps with me once, before she died. You were on a mission with Lupin and Smith, and she asked to go with me. She spoke about you, Hermione. The colors, they started to come back as she talked about how much you meant to her, how scared she was, how she knew you'd close yourself off when she died. She knew she wasn't going to survive the War, and she worried what would become of you. I promised her I wouldn't let your colors fade."

"Luna, I can't do this. Not here in this loud pub," Hermione whispered, her mind reeling from the knowledge Pansy had sought solace in I Luna /I of all people instead of talking to her. By that time, they'd been lovers for over a year, since Pansy had pressed her against the wall in the Prefects bathroom and snogged her senseless, even before she'd found out that Pansy had been a spy since sixth year when the reality of the War had come crashing down after her father was put in Azkaban and her mum was put in St. Mungos.

"You I can /I do this. You're so very brave and beautiful," Luna said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at Hermione intensely. "I promised her that I'd make sure you were happy and that you I lived /I because that was her greatest wish, what she needed to hear so she could do what must be done. But I've not kept that promise. You see, she saw, too. She saw the reds, oranges, and yellows every time I looked at you, and she knew."

Hermione knew she was gawking, wondering if she had misunderstood since it was very easy to be confused when Luna spoke. "Luna, are you, I mean, what?"

"You're not ready yet," Luna smiled. "Not for our rainbow of colors. But you will be. And then you'll start living again and it will be so beautiful. There's already red here." Her fingers moved to brush across Hermione's cheek, lingering on her jaw. "I've waited for you for years, Hermione. I can wait a while longer."

Looking down at her drink, she noticed the bright colors, her mind rapidly piecing together the puzzle so that it began to make sense. Luna's constant presence in the years since the War, her friendly smiles and eagerness to have conversations even when Hermione was not in the mood to talk at all, the way she looked at her sometimes that Hermione had always thought was her own imagination or loneliness for physical contact. Luna wasn't Pansy, but they both shared a loyalty to those they loved and a keen intelligence that would randomly display itself in ways that earned Hermione's respect.

She wasn't ready yet, not by any means. She wasn't even sure she wanted Luna in her life in that way, regardless of the feelings the pretty blonde had for her. But maybe it I was /I time to stop mourning and try to live again. Pansy wouldn't have wanted her to slowly waste away like this. Picking up her drink, she looked back at Luna and took the first step. "I've missed the colors, Luna. Perhaps we can, uh, see what happens?"

Luna beamed, leaning over the table to brush a very gentle kiss against Hermione's temple, her fingers moving through her hair tenderly. "I'd like that, Hermione," she said with a sweet smile. "After we finish our drinks, maybe we can go to the park and see if we see any Hoffiskins. It's supposed to be very good luck if you see one, you know?"

To her surprise, Hermione found herself returning the smile. "I think I'd like that, Luna."

The End


End file.
